Just Another Job
by gamergirl104
Summary: Moments after feeding bullets into the fire of the Quad Tower lab in Langshiang, Ada gladly accepts a new assignment. This time, she's being shipped to another country where not only the truth of Neo-Umbrella's survival lies in wait for her, but also the unexpected presence of another calls her to once again question her heart. Following right after RE6 & LeonxAda of course!
1. Chapter 1

**Takes place post RE6. And if this story has a future, it definitely will contain some spoilers from the game. Enjoy ^^**

**I don't own RE or any of their characters. **

* * *

"_A job, huh? Sure. My schedule just cleared." _

_"You just had to jump the gun and take another job, didn't you…"_ Ada narrated to herself in her mind as she thoroughly massaged the shampoo over her head. _"You could've at least taken one day off."_ Rinsing away the foam from her hair, she faced the incoming water, gently resting her forehead against the marbled wall. The hot water beat against her shoulders, its purpose to sooth her aching muscles, but her mind refused to let her body seek any rest. She opened her eyes, watching the watery soap stream down her legs, cleansing her of the dirt and ashes from the countless of buildings engulfed in fire that she had witnessed in the last day to say the least. It felt like weights were strapped to her arm when it reached up to turn off the water before falling lifelessly back to her side. _"Stillness…How kind of you to come…"_ The silence began to disperse the heavy pondering and allow her thoughts to drift where they pleased. Vision became clouded with images of an all too familiar face with that confused look hanging over his sweat-covered brow, surrounded by the glow of nearby flames. Her breathing slowed to almost nonexistent along with the steady beating of her heart filling her ears. And though she couldn't see herself at the moment, she felt the corner of those caustic lips of hers gently curl up. The dream of him waned and her moment of peace crumbled from the beeping of her phone. She would've remained in her fantasy a little while longer, unfortunately, duty called.

Ada stepped out of the shower, tossing on her crimson silk robe that was on the bed. She stuck her hand into her wet hair and pushed her bangs up and away from her face as she took her time and strolled out of her bedroom with the repeating sound still playing in the background. A detour to the urban-designed steel kitchen that had yet to be used, she grabbed a wine glass from the cabinet above the sink and one of the bottles of wine on the rack by the counter.

"Oh, Château Lafite…I think I've missed you the most." The cork came off with a crisp pop, and watching the contents flow out of the bottle evoked a temporary sense of comfort; it was pleasant to see the red liquid that was something other than blood. The ringing was frustratingly persistent, but it had to be answered. Feeling that she had delayed the call long enough, the ebony haired Asian plopped down onto her white leathered sofa, careful not to spill any of the contents in her glass. She clipped the Bluetooth to her ear and slid the tip of her finger over the screen of her phone.

"You're usually prompt in answering your calls," a sedate male voice answered from the other line.

"Sorry," she apologized, taking a generous sip of her red wine.

Disregarding any more talk than needed, he continued, "Your flight schedule and assignment details have already been sent to you." She set her drink on the glass coffee table in front of her and opened the laptop that was already ready for use.

"Rome," she read aloud, scrolling down the report for a quick skim. "What could possibly be there that you want to send me in for?"

"Neo-Umbrella."

"Neo-Umbrella?" She was already sitting up straight. The tension she tried so hard to jettison earlier tonight revisited her at the snap of a finger.

"So you've heard of it," the man inferred straightaway. "Then I'm sure you're also well aware of their most recent epidemics in China and the United States."

"I've experienced them firsthand," she corrected. Her pulse ticked from having to hear that name. "Neo-Umbrella's nothing but another failed Umbrella copycat."

"Considering the panic and casualties they've inflicted in just a matter of days, it would appear that they're not as incompetent as you state."

"Their founder was a tragic figure, whose own mental instability led her to her own end. Without her, Neo-Umbrella has no future. Besides, the BSAA should've already cleaned up the mess by now, along with infiltrating all their facilities."

"In China, yes."

Her dark, mahogany eyes flickered from the lighting and an entertained grin eased its way up. And she remarked, "So…There's more…"

"Possibly," was the reply she got back. Such a word implied doubt, but from all the people she had dealt with in the past and the circumstances she encountered, 'possibly' was always a certainty. He further elaborated, "There's a rumor that the terrorist organization has a facility in the city of Rome. Your job is to confirm such suspicions. Exact pinpoints of location are detailed in the report."

"And if your 'rumor' is correct?"

"Further actions will be discussed when such a time does come. We'll be awaiting your contact." Succinct as ever, the informant ended the conversation and the line went blank.

She reviewed the facts in her possession, her smirk growing with every word she read till her amusement manifested into a quiet chuckle.

"They're throwing me in as blind as a bat," she scoffed, trading her Bluetooth for the wine glass. She brought her legs up to her, feeling the cold sensation from the fine leather rubbing her skin and then taken over by the heat from her body. A flat screen she hardly ever watched sat across from her on the other side of the living room with a surround system she never used. Her sight adjusted to the kitchen she was just in, designed with a full-working oven and stove that she coaxed herself to install but never had the opportunity to lay a finger on. Even in her own home she felt like an intruder – out of place and alone. Nonetheless, she preferred it that way. She was good at her job and keeping everything at bay made her even more efficient at it; no unwanted baggage, no attachments. Well, almost none. There would always be _one_ that she'd carry – one that she couldn't abandon even if she wanted to. It didn't matter though, not for this mission. She brought the glass to her lips and finished the remaining gulp, tasting the aroma of mint and black currant that lingered in her mouth. Europe wasn't part of his jurisdiction, thus the chances of his involvement were close to none. It was a relief to know, partly because his presence would be a distraction, but most of all, that he wouldn't be entangled in whatever mess she was about to get into that would jeopardize him in any way.

She reentered the kitchen, pouring some more wine into her empty glass to accompany her to her room. The curtains were tightly shut and she lied down on her bed, resting her cheek on the soft pillow. Her hand smoothed itself over the covers beside her, and focus diverted away from Rome to a beautiful yet jaded blue gaze that was always in the back of her mind. She knew what she was thinking was senseless to the point of stupid. Nevertheless, to satiate her sporadic musings, she closed her eyes, slowly counting to ten in her mind, to open them again not to the surprise of her lonesome hand as it was, stretched out over the covers with no other human contact.

"Fool," she mocked herself. "Always wondering the impossible." Impossible as they may seem, she admitted that the what-ifs never left her, temporarily suppressed or granted free roam. What if she had ran away with him that day in Raccoon City? What would life have turned out to be then? What about Spain and Eastern Slav? How would things have been different if she hadn't abandoned him at gunpoint or as a mere distraction for her own escape? And then there was her most recent escapade. What if she hadn't walked away, if she had stayed and explained to him the truth? This last one bothered her. The unsettlement pounding away at her insides since she returned…Was it regret? For work's sake, she convinced herself that her emotions were only toying with her and that her choice was unquestionable. She _had_ to leave him and clear her name from Carla's mess. Time was precious, not to be wasted on sappy exchanges of 'feelings' that wouldn't change the choices that she had made long ago…as well as the choices _he_ had made. She reminded herself of this reasoning once more before archiving it away deep in her heart not to be seen for the spanning of this trip.

Gathering what strength she had left, Ada hopped out of bed. Her flight was tomorrow, and like what she always said, there was no rest for the weary. The titanium suitcase sat where she left it, and now, sprawled open atop of the bed, it would reserve its purpose of encasing a woman's most basic necessities – artillery of course. With a sparkling beam like a child at a candy store, she glossed through the selection of weaponry at the back of her walk-in closet. Not even having to think, she took the grappling gun and went straight to the selection of nine millimeter handguns, selecting a P226 without delay. The snipers were tempting, seducing her with their sleek barrel designs and great firepower, whereas the assault rifles offered versatility with a grenade launcher cherry on top. Her hands gravitated towards the M4 carbine, but she retracted them when she noticed the machine pistols sitting nearby. And from that, the decision was as clear as day.

"And to think I was going to choose a rifle over you. I guess diamonds aren't a woman's only best friend…" Without wasting another second, she picked up the B&T MP9 and prepared to head out to pack everything. One step out of her closet, she spun back around, eyeing the combat knife that almost bolted from her view. She briefly scrutinized it from the blunt end to the tip, finding every aspect of it unfitting for her style. However, consideration wedged its way through, forming an impulse in her chest that incessantly beat for her to give in. She gradually reached for it, freezing a few centimeters away with hesitation. Eventually, the impulse succeeded in its battle of wills and she snatched up the blade. From roaring waves to still waters, her conscience finally found peace once her fingers were firmly gripping the handle. A sudden walk down memory lane replayed a special moment in her mind, surprising her how quickly she became distracted again. She didn't stop it though. Instead, she let the memory reel finish, and when it was over, she returned back to business. But before she switched off her sentimentality again, before detachment became her only existing character, she mused herself one more time,

"Knives…Work better for close encounters. Isn't that right, Mr. Kennedy?"

* * *

**I know this first chapter is short, but I really want to see what you think. This is my first RE fic, and I'm relatively nervous about it.**

** Ada and Leon's pairing is by far one of my favorites in any genre of entertainment, and finishing RE6 awhile back, I just wanted more! Then after countless nights of pondering and indecisiveness, I finally gathered the guts to post this. So please take the time and review. It'll be a big encouragement and a green light for me to get started on chapter 2 ^^ **

**Btw, thanks for reading! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Yea! Finally finished chapter 2! Sorry for taking a while to update, and as promised, its A LOT longer! And I just want to thank y'all for the support and feedbacks! It's fantastic and such an encouragement! Anyways, enjoy!**

**I don't own RE. **

* * *

Only a crack of light was visible amidst the dark, and though Leon couldn't see anything, he felt his body shuffle around. His hand came up to the slit of white upon his command, and with a single swoosh, he brushed the curtain open. The rays of the sun pierced his eyes like needles on a pincushion, making him jerk his sight away from the brightness. Eventually, perception adapted itself and he looked down at his shirtless body, feeling the immense heat that emitted from it. He brought his hand up with sore muscles that barely allowed him to clench his fingers, and wiped it over his face and through his dirty blonde hair. There was a faint smell of alcohol on him; even the burning sensation of whiskey was still hooked onto his dry throat. Two bottles of Jameson sat on the night table beside his bed – one empty and the other more than halfway – with a tipped over shot glass tagging along to help jog his most recent of memories.

"That explains a lot," he mumbled to himself, rubbing away the stiffness from his neck. With one question answered, another surfaced: what spurred this behavior? From the upside down stomach to the painful drumroll in his head, Leon's body was a walking deadweight. Sure, he always had a few drinks during the week to rid the stress from work, but never to the point of struggling to keep his knees from giving out. So what was it? What threw him into this unusual binging? He couldn't recollect the events of last night, only remembering his late return. It was impossible to properly think in the state he was in with his surroundings feeling like a merry-go-round. Liked it or not, if he wanted to remember, a cold shower would have to do first.

He stared at himself in the mirror, his eyesight perfectly clear now and every inch of his muscle chilled awake from the water. The remaining bits of shaving cream along his jaw were wiped away, trading his haggard look for a much younger and refreshed appearance. Tossing on a clean pair of jeans and a white V-neck shirt, he visited the kitchen. Since he set his shaver down, the back of his fingers wouldn't stop stroking his chin. He was so used to the prickliness of his shallow beard that feeling smooth skin was foreign. The slight reverie wasn't enough to sidetrack him from his focus, and without further delay, he turned on the coffee maker to brew an adult's remedy for morning ills.

_"I was upset about something,"_ he deducted from an obscure remembrance, leaning against the counter. He picked at his brain a bit more and to his frustration, came out empty-handed until he finally gave up and agreed to just wait for his early dose of energy. His gaze wandered from place to place, surveying his home. It had been days since he stepped foot onto these wooden floors. Everything was as he left it, although there wasn't much in the one bedroom apartment to begin with. The kitchen was fully equipped with utensils and cookware, but the only things that inhabited his fridge were a few frozen meals, nothing that required the usage of such equipment. He wasn't a big spender, but there was one thing he allowed himself to indulge in – his entertainment system. A seventy inch flat screen hung on the wall facing the small charcoal colored couch with one of the best surround systems and players installed. He used it sparingly. But when he did, he wanted the noise and the crystal clear images to be overwhelming enough to drown away his senses and take him far away from reality – far from all the blood, abominations, and terrorism he had endured for over a decade and would still continue to till all of it was wiped off the face of existence.

The little red dot of light on the espresso machine dissolved, and he reached for the pot to fill his mug. His past experiences – including his work – appeared like the logical reason for his drinking, but the knot in his gut disagreed. If that really was the case, by now, he would've been attending alcoholics anonymous. No, that wasn't it. It was something else; something much more…_personal_. The soothing aroma of coffee beans filled his lungs as he brought the warm mug right under his nose for a sip. His taste buds welcomed the bitterness, and the mental thought of the caffeine traversing through his veins gave his brain a rejuvenating kick start. He unconsciously took a seat by the bar counter, and as he continued drinking his coffee, there was a click in his mind. He raised a brow and shifted in his chair. Something was familiar – something about this very spot.

"I sat here last night," he gathered from vague images that showed themselves. There was a stain on the table, possibly the contents from the liquor bottles in his room. After that, it didn't take long for a single word to pop into his head. "Palette!" he exclaimed and his eyes widened with vigor. He flew from his seat to his bedroom, tripping over the carpet, and flung himself towards the mattress. There was nothing beneath the sheets or the pillows, and only dust was found underneath the bed. Calm and patience no longer existed as he scurried about in his room, searching. His brain threw orders everywhere, telling his hands to open this and his legs to run to there. Disorder and rashness were never part of his personality, and when he came to his senses, he abruptly stopped. Panic wasn't going to help him find anything. Seeing that he already stormed through most of his bedroom and discovered nothing, there was only his bathroom left undisturbed. Clothes from last night were still on the tiled ground from when he showered earlier. He picked up his pants and searched the pockets. Nothing. "Dammit! Where did I put it?" Determination did not abandon him; instead, it provided another clue. The leather jacket he had worn was easily spotted on the couch in the living room. He picked it up and smiled with relief when the greatly sought after object fell out of one of the pockets. The round makeup palette fitted comfortably in his grip and formed an attachment that even he found it difficult to explain.

_"Of all the things to drink over…It was her."_ He opened it, revealing the mirror inside and his reflection, though he didn't see himself. In its place, he saw her: the notorious woman in red with her coy smile, teasing him. The reminiscence of her tantalized his nerves. However, the pleasant thoughts of the woman faded as memories of last night finally pieced themselves together. He snapped the contraption closed, and the same dark thoughts he drank away haunted him. He took his spot back at the counter by his coffee, fiddling with the palette in his hands. Helena had given it to him yesterday when they paid their respects to her sister's grave. Back then, he easily accepted it with pleasure, and considering the hell the two of them had been through a mere few days ago, his positive outlook was appropriate. It wasn't until he got home that he pondered over his journey in Langshiang and Tall Oaks. What was her purpose there? Was she on another job? From his encounter with Chris, she was indicted of being the one who unleashed the global outbreak. Could that really be true? What about Simmons? The fellow BSAA member was one of the very few people he trusted, and for him to make such an allegation there must be _some_ truth to it. Leon just refused to believe it. To think that she had a hand in massacring possibly hundreds of thousands of people sickened him. What made it worse was the incongruous question of what the hell she was. The footage found in the underground lab of the cathedral continuously replayed in the background, throwing all certainties and facts that he had about her, which was sparse enough already, out the window. He brought his hands over his face, that craving for some sort of emotional suppressant (whether it be alcohol or not) inching its way out again. His life was always straightforward, perfectly black and white, right and wrong. Yet, since Raccoon City, there had always been one speck of grey, and it was her. From all the brief reunions in the past, he knew that she wasn't any girl scout. Nonetheless, each encounter with her left him with an escalated heart rate and a desire for more. Unfortunately, work always got in the way…for both of them.

Leon glimpsed at the time displayed on the oven. Another day of labor for the government awaited him, and he was already half an hour late. He slipped into a dark brown leather jacket out of the closet and equipped his nine millimeter handgun to his shoulder holster. Then he grabbed the car keys off the kitchen counter in his procession to leave. There was a moment of pause as he stood between there and the living room, eyeing the makeup kit that he left where he sat. If he took it, it would only encourage the intimate feelings he possessed for her and keep the dwindling fire of hope burning. And if he didn't, would it mean that he was accepting the labels branded against her, that she was a terrorist, a murder…a monster? Was he ready to accept that? Deep down, his answer was obvious. The obstacle was his reasoning, his sense of justice, ultimately, his morality. Another minute passed, and his heart and mind declined to cease in their tug-of-war. Nevertheless, he still had a life to live and a job he was late for. Not looking back, he opened the front door of his apartment and left.

* * *

Luckily for the American agent, rush hour was over by the time he hit the road, and a little abuse of his position in the government offered some immunity to the scrutiny of multiple traffic officers. He made it in to the White House without much more delay and sprinted on to the west wing, dodging officials and other federal figures along the way. The two oak doors to the President's office came to view with a guard restlessly standing by.

"Kennedy! There you are!" Ross exclaimed, removing his finger from his earpiece. "Where the hell you've been? Picking dandelions in the garden?" The heavily built man scowled out of concern, though his harshly contracted brow begged to differ.

"Something like that," was the sarcastic reply back. Leon tidied himself a bit, smoothing out the wrinkles on his shirt and adjusting his jacket. "Is anyone else in there?"

"Secretary of State Regant dropped by unexpectedly. From what I can hear, it's nothing too serious."

"Good news for me then," he continued with the wry humor. "Wish me luck." They gave each other a nod, and Ross opened the door for him to enter. The interior of the Oval Office was much too familiar. The Resolute Desk, the red drapes of the south-facing windows behind it, the carpet bearing the President's seal, all of it brought forth nostalgia. Not even a week ago, he stood in this very room with the former President Benford before their departure to Tall Oaks. Their trust amongst each other was undeniable. But with the end of one bond, came the beginning of another. The two gentlemen were seated by the couches at the center facing each other. The President glanced up as the Secretary looked over his shoulder from their conversation.

"Mr. President," Leon greeted, not displaying the nervousness from his lack of punctuality. "I apologize for being late."

"Leon Scott Kennedy," the successor of the presidency welcomed, cutting off the agent from his explanation. He stood up and approached to shake hands. "It's been a while since we last met. You always reported to Benford." The wrinkles at the corner of his eyes creased as a smile took its form on his otherwise stern features. "And don't worry about it. I had Regant here to keep me company."

"Good to see you, Agent Kennedy," the Secretary of State accosted. They exchanged shakes, and the two older men temporarily excused themselves back around the table to finish their discussion. Their words were brief and they hid nothing in the agent's company.

Once the Secretary took his leave, Leon advanced for another pardon, "President Jensen, I want to apologize again for forgetting about our meeting. There's no excuse for my irresponsibility, and-"

"Leon, please," the president spoke lightheartedly. "You've been through more in the last few days than the average man would in multiple lifetimes. Take whatever excuse you need." His response lifted some of the weight off the agent's shoulders, and Jensen continued, "I called you in to _personally_ thank you for all you've done. I know you were close to Benford, and what you did was probably harder than any field mission you've been on. Benford was a man of his word. There was no one else I respected more in office than him." Leon felt his stomach twist in directions it shouldn't. He brought his hands behind his back to conceal their tight grip over one another and maintained a dignified posture. Losing a friend never felt this devastating. "So, Agent Kennedy…" the President then formally addressed. "…Thank you."

"I'm grateful for your recognition, sir. But Helena Harper deserves just as much credit."

"And I've acknowledged it. I've asked Agent Hunnigan to reconsider Agent Harper's qualification into the DSO. Good agents come and go all the time, but when the _right_ one shows up, there's no point in hesitating. "

His response was unexpected. As a founding member of the Division of Security Operations, Leon wasn't in charge of recruitment, but upon reviewing her records, he was well aware of the dismissal of Helena's candidacy before her entry into the Secret Service. And to hear of an opportunity of requalification, he was pleased to know of an almost guaranteed possibility of gaining another reliable individual into the division. It was only the older man's first week into presidency and Leon was already impressed. Jensen and Benford must've seen eye to eye on many situations, for their reasoning and wisdom seemed to be measured on a similar scale.

"She's a good choice, sir," Leon agreed full heartedly.

"I'm glad to hear your approval, Leon. Means that I'm doing _something_ right so far as president," he said with a reassured smile. That was when Leon realized that the outcome of what had happened didn't just increase the burden _he_ carried; it also thrust an entire nation's future onto the new shoulders of a single man during a time of crisis and rebuilding.

"It's a lot of responsibility, leading a country," he found the words to say. "But you have the DSO's support." The agent recalled him making the same statement to the previous commander in chief when he was first elected into office. He felt honor take root in him again, and he then added, "You have _my_ support."

"Thank you." The president's sincerity showed itself not just through his thanks but through the kindled fire in his age driven green eyes. The moment passed and he went over to his desk. "I look forward to working with you when you get back, Leon," he told him, picking up one of the documents on his desk.

"When I get back?" The elder's remark puzzled him.

"Why don't you take a few days off?" Jensen elucidated.

"But sir-"

"I looked over your file," he continued, "Last time you took a vacation was almost two years ago, and even that didn't go as peacefully as you wanted. It's barely been two days since you got back. Get some rest. There are plenty of agents on duty. I'm sure they can handle a few days without you. Besides, the worst is over, right?"

"Over?" Leon thought to himself. He smirked on the inside from hearing such a comment. How many times had he said that and have another BOW almost slash his head off? But enough with the pessimism. He was being offered a break from the world of chasing after monsters and being chased by them. Why decline it? After all…president's order.

* * *

The smell of coffee was still in the air when Leon opened the door to his apartment. The kitchen was his first designation after tossing his jacket and keys aside. He debated between the unfinished pot of coffee he had left from this morning and the unopened bottle of Irish whiskey half hidden behind the box of cereal. His hand subconsciously inched its way to the alcoholic beverage but stopped when the tip of his fingers touched the glass.

_"Nah, now's not the time."_ And without further contemplation, he reached for the pot instead. Avoiding eye contact with the bar counter was of the utmost importance since stepping foot back into his abode. The palette was obviously still there, and he was in no mood to dwell over emotional despair and unanswerable questions. With his laptop set up, he settled on his couch and clicked open a web browser. His employer suggested a leave of absence, and though Leon couldn't agree more, relaxing was never at the top of his list. Did he even remember how to? His last furlough felt forced upon him. And when he finally got the hang of enjoying himself, he awoke to a man staring down at him in a black suite with a chopper on the beach he was on, readying to drag him off to Eastern Slav. _"Maybe I should get out of the country,"_ the idea crossed his mind along with a reminder of his last experience on a zombie infested plane crash landing into China. _"Scratch that."_ Meanwhile, there was a vibration by his thigh, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. With a touch, an image of a more than well-known face appeared over the screen.

"Sorry if I'm interrupting anything," Ingrid Hunnigan's voice came through.

"Not at all, Hunnigan. It's always nice to hear your voice. You should call more often," he casually flirted.

"Need I remind you of the meaning of professionalism, Leon," she said in return, taking no offense to his harmless remark.

"Always the businesswoman," he smirked.

"Well not all of us are on furlough."

"I take it the President informed you." He wasn't surprised. As operations coordinator, she would've been one of the first to be notified.

"Briefly," she put in. An agent in the same operating room handed her several documents, and she returned her attention back to him and continued, "Anyways, I didn't want to disturb you, but I got the BSAA report you asked about and sent you a copy."

Report? He had completely forgotten of such a request until her mentioning of it. There was no need to think for his body to already respond and open the text on his laptop, containing the BSAA's detailed written record over the incidents regarding the c-virus. Chris Redfield's personal statement over his mission was also included and was the first Leon scrolled to. He had no doubt that Chris would note in his writing one specific name, being the self-righteous soldier he was. Leon's body tensed with every line he skimmed till to his satisfaction in the first section titled 'Edonia', he saw it: 'ADA WONG'.

"Leon!" Hunnigan's voice broke through the silence.

"Sorry," he replied, unable to take his gaze off the screen. "Thanks, Hunnigan…for the report," he then added and ended the call.

* * *

The sky had fallen dark, and he was in the same spot on the couch for hours, going over the files in his possession. His eyes were exhausted from the intense reading, but his mind was far from slowing down. Whether he witnessed it or someone else did, Edonia, Tall Oaks, China, directly or indirectly, _she_ was involved in it all. He looked down at the half empty bottle of whiskey in his hand that he tried not to open, and then his blue eyes shifted to his laptop with the BSAA's only documentation on Ada. It was no surprise that they hardly had any info on her except from Chris' basic knowledge of the woman. No evidence of her existence was recovered from any of Neo-Umbrella's facilities, neither archives nor flesh. He then crawled up off the couch to the kitchen, glancing at the makeup compact sitting idly on the counter as he passed by.

"_For the next time you see her,"_ Helena had told him, returning the compact when they visited Deborah's grave. Before paying their respects, that was when he asked Hunngian for the information. He was just curious, possibly even obsessed to see if Ada would finally be mentioned at all, since he had purposely failed to do so in all of his reports to his superiors. And now, alas, seeing her name on such documents was far from unsettling, and the added alarm of an international arrest warrant over her head for her part in Eastern Slav stumped him even more. He was never aware that she had been detected. On the other hand, none of that mattered. Currently, her status was recorded as 'deceased' with Chris as the sole surviving eyewitness to her death. _That_ Leon knew to be false because after Chris had told him, like a ghost she reappeared. But she was real; she was tangible. He held her in his arms and he saw her siren smile disappear with her as she bid farewell. Ada Wong was far from dead.

He returned back to the couch with the palette in his hand, examining the outside of it. Then he picked up his phone from the table in front of him and brought it to his ear.

"Hunnigan," he said when the other line picked up, "I need a favor."

"What is it?" she asked, sensing the disturbance in his tone.

"I've been looking through the files you sent me, and I want you to run a name."

She was taken aback by his sudden request and asked back, "It's not in there?"

"Not what I'm looking for." He knew that she wasn't the intel database that he was treating her to be, but she complied.

"Alright. What's the name, and what do you want to know?"

"Look through flight records of all airports in the US, specifically in the last three days. The passenger's name is…" His sentence stopped there with his jaw clenched tightly shut and a lump stuck in his throat. He had always feared of revealing her name to anyone, through writing or speech, especially to those of the government. He could be accused of obstruction of justice, but that never seemed to be the problem. What really worried him was her. There was no telling what would happen if they ever knew of her association with the bioterrorism that had been raging on for years. This was why she was the grey. The only time he let emotion get in the way of work and principle. And now, without a doubt, emotion was overriding professionalism. "…Ada…Ada Wong," he shoved the words from his throat and out of his mouth.

"Give me a sec." The swift clicking of the keyboard could be heard in the background almost producing a melodic rhythm. He jumped on the inside when she suddenly confirmed, "Got it. There was an Ada Wong that departed from JFK at twelve a.m. this morning to Fiumicino Airport in Rome, Italy."

He couldn't believe it. He found her! His thumping heart filled his ears from the excitement of once again proving that she wasn't a ghost, and he could feel the goose bumps cloak his arms. But the discovery was abnormal. Being who she was, how could she have been so careless to leave a trace?

"You want to tell me wants going on, Leon?" Hunnigan's voice could be heard, but he didn't answer. He needed to come to a decision. He had the facts (and the 'theories'), and he had a location. So…what was the next move? Was he going to ignore everything, continue on, and wait for answers that might never come? Or was he going to take action? If the reports were true, and Ada was indeed part of Neo-Umbrella, then this trip to Rome could very well possibly be another attempt at genocide. And this time, she might succeed.

He dragged himself back to the present moment with his conclusion, and he directed, "Hunnigan, I need you to book me the next flight to Rome."

"What?! Leon, what's going on? Who is this Ada Wong?" she probed. He was at a crossroad again, and a simple 'none of your business' wasn't going to cut it.

"I...honestly don't know what's going on myself," he said. "It's just a hunch, but…I need you to trust me." The hesitation struggling in her was apparent from her lack of reply, and he understood. He was asking a lot based on so little. "All I can say is that if this hunch of mine is right…You can expect something like China all over again, maybe even worse."

"Does the President know about this?"

"No. This is just between us."

Seconds passed and he was getting worried that his trust in her was a mistake. Then she spoke again, ending the doubt that should never had existed, "There's a flight leaving in three hours from now. I reserved a seat for you. I suggest you get on it."

The anxiety that clawed at his innards loosened, and an insuppressible smile spread over him. "Thanks, Hunnigan." The call ended and he tossed his phone beside him as he faced his computer with the collage of text. There was a slight guilt lurking in him from hiding his true intentions from her. Of course the plausible global threat was a major concern, but getting answers was what was driving him. He was tired of playing this game of cat and mouse with Ada. He was tired of her avoiding his questions, toying with him. He wanted the truth...and he was going to get it by any means necessary.

Leon then picked up Ada's palette and looked at it as if it had a soul of its own.

"This time…I'm not letting you walk away. I'm coming after you, Ada."

* * *

**I know, I know, where's the Ada-Leon interaction? Don't worry, that's coming up most likely in the next update. For this chapter, I really wanted to properly introduce Leon into the story. I hope it wasn't a disappointment. And if you got the time, please review and let me know what you thought of this chapter or hope to see in later ones! I'll definitely take your thoughts into consideration when writing, and am immensely grateful for your continued support! Thank you!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Next chapter, woot! Enjoy :)**

**I don't own RE or any of its characters. All rights go to Capcom.**

**And just another disclaimer, the Church of San Domenico and the street, Via del Regno, are fictional locations that I created. All other historical sites and references are real. Also, the Pontifical Commission of Sacred Archaeology and Pontifical Academy of Archaeology actually do exist, but the members mentioned, including Domenico Giovanni, are all figments of my imagination.**

* * *

With a click, another snapshot of St. Peter's Basilica was stored into the memory card of the digital SLR camera. Ada tilted her head to one side to get a look at the renowned renaissance church through her own anatomical lenses. She analyzed the structure, from the statues of apostles at the steps to the central dome that pierced the skyline. Her phone vibrated against her ribs through the maroon leather jacket that hugged her torso. Keeping her hold on the camera, she rested it on her thigh as her other hand reached into her pocket.

"What's your status?" the apathetic voice of her informant instantly queried.

"I'm right outside of St. Peter's Square," she replied, switching to an earpiece.

"The basilica?"

"Yes. I looked deeper into the attack that was referenced in the report when I arrived this morning. It wasn't as catastrophic compared to others, and the BSAA contained it without much trouble."

"And the virus of choice?"

Those soft red lips of hers curled up at the ends, dying to provide the answer. "The C-virus, of course. The how's and what's were never unveiled, but the origin of the gas was pinpointed to this vicinity."

"Are we certain then?"

"You mean of Neo-Umbrella? Not quite." She glanced back up at the holy sanctuary and then asked, "You're _sure_ it's inside the city?"

"That is what we gathered."

People bustled in and out of the forecourt; some reveling in the view, others just passing by. Ada quietly observed their activity from afar and then swung her camera strap over her shoulder. "Then it has to be below ground," she concluded. "With all the preserved historical sites and the streets swarming with tourists and locals, there's no way for them to have had the space or time to build an entire facility out in the open."

"And have you figured out _where_ underground?"

"I'm still working on that," she nonchalantly replied.

"Maybe this'll help. We have a target for you," he disclosed.

"Really," she remarked, greatly pleased, pressing the earpiece closer to her ear for a better hearing. "Please, do tell."

"Domenico Giovanni."

"Hm, doesn't ring a bell."

"It shouldn't. He's the president of the Pontifical Commission of Sacred Archaeology – the overseers of the catacombs in Rome. Interestingly enough, his name's been circulating in the black market for quite a while."

"Catacombs, huh…" A light bulb instantly lit over her head.

Sensing that she made the connection, he proceeded, "If your deduction is correct, Giovanni may be the one with the answers. The Pontifical Academy of Archaeology will be holding their annual anniversary tomorrow evening."

"No need to further explain," she jumped in. "I understand what I need to do. Send me the files on him and the fortunate lady that I get to play pretend with." The chitchat came to a close and she removed the earpiece. Busy as ever, the holy site bustled with families and individuals with even the ringing of bells from bicycles strolling by. It was sad that such serenity had suffered from the terrors of bioterrorism. But recently, which part of the world hadn't? With one foot on the peg and the other supporting herself on the motorbike, she severed her sight from the illusion of the joyful scenery. Sightseeing was done; it was time for work.

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, we'll be descending momentarily. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. Thank you," the intercom announced throughout the aircraft.

Leon remained unmoved as he aimlessly stared out the small oval window. The clouds dissolved, leaving behind an ever growing clarity of the buildings and streets below with cars similar to insects crawling about. It was ironic that in a metropolis of splendor and history, leisure was not the purpose of travel. Once again, vacation was a luxury yet to be enjoyed, almost impossible. Time after time, he retreated for rest only for the virus to somehow drag him back out by the ankles. The hours in flight weighed in on him with inquietude shrouding his conscience. But alas, the dreary wait was over, and the Eternal City was now his battlefield. Though for this fight, he was alone. There was no Helena. No President's daughter to save. Even communications to Hunnigan was limited to almost none if he didn't wish to expose anything he'd later regret. This time, there was only him and the spy clad in red.

Upon landing, he wasted no time in getting to work. Ada was already a day ahead of him, and every second he didn't locate her, she further slipped from his grasp. Making haste was the exact opposite of what he saw when he arrived at immigration. The line of visitors snaked from the counters to the very back of the room. Brats threw tantrums with parents lacking the patience to tend to them, and senior citizens slouched lower and lower wearied of the inch by inch progression. Leon squeezed through the people, ignoring the glares and rude remarks spat at him, and approached the woman maintaining order.

"Sir! You need to get in line," she sternly stated as soon as she noticed him cutting through to her.

He didn't comply, and alternatively, he curtly conveyed, "My apologies. But I'm with the US Secret Service, and I need to speak to your head of security." Her furrowed brow and bulging eyes of scrutiny did not foreshadow cooperation. However, his brevity was unexpectedly heeded, and she spoke into her handheld transceiver and led him to the doors labeled for restricted access. A man appeared at the opposite end of the corridor as they went forth. Leon waited in place as she continued forward and approached the man to inform him of things.

Skepticism marked his features and once he came face to face with the American emissary, he questioned, "Secret Service, eh? Forgive me for sounding doubtful, but do you have any proof of identification?"

Leon thought they'd never ask, and he presented the necessary document.

"DSO…?" the skeptic surveyed him peculiarly.

"Division of Security Operations; we handle bioterrorist threats."

"Bioterrorism?" Paleness infected his otherwise dignified mien, and severity burned through the thin lenses of his glasses.

"You seem worried," Kennedy remarked. Having lived in a world where bio organic weapons have constantly claimed the lives of many, it was no wonder that such a mention of the word would provoke concern in anyone.

"This city endured its first bioterrorist attack earlier of this year. And once is _more_ than enough," the head official solemnly responded. "So what is your purpose of visit, mister…" he trailed off, giving a quick glance down at the ID before handing it back, "…Kennedy?"

"We're tracking a key witness to the recent attacks in North America and Asia. The last of our information tells us she arrived at your airport yesterday."

"If she did, we should have her on camera." He motioned for Leon to follow him from where he came. "Security has improved over the years. We have surveillance watching every centimeter of this place."

"Then finding her shouldn't be a problem." The two of them came across another set of doors requiring an access key for entrance.

The chief reached into his coat pocket for the card key as he reaffirmed with a smug disposition, "I've told you, if she so much as stepped into this building, at least one of our cameras spotted her." He opened the door, and they proceeded to surveillance control.

* * *

"Champagne, miss?"

The Asian beauty turned around, seeing the server waiting for her to take him up on his offer. She took a glass, and her luscious pink lips presented a gracious smile in return. Taking a sip, her sight wandered about the room, bouncing from every wall surrounding her to each guest mingling by. The Church of San Domenico was surely a sight to recognize even for a minute. It was no basilica – of course – but the holy ground was a massive whole nonetheless. The inside of the church wasn't given an opportunity for admiration, since the actual party was held in the palace attached to it; however, she managed to catch a glimpse of the exterior before she entered the ballroom. Though it was not as ancient compared to most of Rome's attractions, the architecture was flawless in replicating that of the Renaissance they embodied. Meticulously crafted statues of saints flanked the niches along the walls of highly finished ashlar masonry with one sole sculpture raising a cross at the top of the roof along with distinct moldings around windows and doors. The multistoried mansion was similarly fashioned, blending together the two constructions into one.

Ada glided out from under the arch and into the courtyard to be confronted by pilaster columns that lined the bordering walkway leading into the next area. A painted ceiling of white doves soaring across the horizon welcomed her as she stepped inside the other room. The vicinity was filled with the faces of well-dressed strangers – strangers to Ada Wong, but to Caterina Lanci, they were fellow comrades of the Pontifical Academy of Archaeology, united together tonight in celebration. The man of the hour was still to be found, but the raven-haired femme fatale was not vexed. Other than the inconsequential misunderstanding of Ms. Lanci's supposed absence, the evening thus far, had been smooth sailing. And as long as things go as they have been, Ada's purpose here would easily be accomplished within the night.

The thought-to-be Ms. Lanci flaunted a silver qípáo with an oval cutout – bearing part of her back – and a slit up her left side exposed a smooth leg fitted in silver pumps at the feet. The blue floral design tattooed down her left only added to the exotic taste in the Chinese gown. Lust drooled behind her and jealousy glowered from afar. Either or, she took no interest in any of the attention. The more people she saw, the more she took notice of the nametags that were given to each invitee. She looked down at hers hanging over the left side of her chest with the name _Caterina Lanci_ printed on it. Lanci wasn't your typical Chinese family name, and with Ada's prominent foreign heritage, there was no doubt that some would challenge the actuality of her identity. But given the added mix of her Caucasian physiognomy along with a believable fabrication, most would be fooled. The background check, however, was the least of her concern. With over a hundred members in the honorary society, at least one person was bound to be familiar with the real Caterina and call out the game of charades. An unacceptable risk even for a mission as trivial as this one.

A particular set of eyes latched onto her, setting off vibes through her body – none of them leaking out for the public to see. Casually, she looked over her shoulder and saw that her lurker made no attempt to cower. Clean shaven with his dark brown hair parted on the left and clothed in a black suit of fine quality with a steel-colored, silk ascot tie, Domenico Giovanni was just as he was pictured in the files: a thin man that seemed to never have sweated a brow in his life. From the staunchness chiseled into his delicate features, the clueless would be dazzled by the dignity and courage he seemed to embody. But Ada was no fool. Men flourishing in wealth and inflated by their own self-righteousness was not an uncommon sight. When he was certain, he excused himself from his current conversation and from the top of the stairs where he stood, he descended. Creases lined his forehead and disorientation washed over his broad cheeks as he drew near to her. She made no effort to close the distance between them from her end, though curiosity peaked inside from detecting the recognition that bled through those gray irises of his. Her hand reached over to her clavicle, pretending to adjust her collar whilst she removed the nametag before he was too close.

"Ada…Wong…?" he carefully spoke when he stopped not two meters away.

"_He knows me," _the discovery rang inside her. "_Or should I say, he knows Carla. In that case, fine. I'll play along. Let's see what you're up to." _

"In the flesh," she responded; a guileful grin snuck out from one of the corners of her mouth. "What's wrong, Giovanni? You look rather pale."

"You're dead," he frankly coughed out, his wide eyes protruding from his sockets that she was afraid they'd fall out.

"_So…he knows."_

"'Dead' is an ironic concept to still believe in nowadays, don't you agree?" she further quipped.

Surprisingly, her words enticed him, and he then snickered, "I should've known your death was only a ruse." His nervousness had obviously drifted past, and he took a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing server. "Was that how you got out of that mess you made in China?"

"It was fun while it lasted."

"You moronic, bitch! You almost destroyed everything we've been working for!" he insulted, containing his volume.

Remaining in character, she lightly chuckled to herself as she leaned closer to him and whispered, "Careful with your language, Giovanni. Let's not forget who's in charge."

"As far as I'm aware, Salvai and I are," he sniped.

"_Salvai…? Another name. Good. We're getting closer." _

"Rome is all that's left of Neo-Umbrella, and you forfeited your authority when you dragged the rest of it down into the ashes with your pride in your C-virus. You have nothing that we would want, not even your research."

"The BSAA has already engineered a vaccine to the virus. Any research of _yours_ will be just as futile." A hint of shrewdness drizzled over her tone.

"Is that what you think?" he sneered, finishing the champagne in one gulp. "Then obviously Salvai never told you." Her perplexity only fed his ego. She saw the madness that oozed from the contortion in the man's leer, revealing teeth that resembled daggers. "We've evolved it."

One of the security guards showed up beside him and murmured into his ear. Ada couldn't make out what they were saying for her mind was trying to scramble itself around his last words. _"Evolved it? Already?! It's only been days since Carla enhanced the virus, and now they've already evolved it?"_ Her train of thought crashed through a broken railroad line at the sound of Giovanni's voice, wrenching her focus back to him.

"Well, our little reunion was fun, Ms. Wong. But if you'll excuse me, I have matters to attend to below." He turned to leave but glanced back at her on a second thought. "Unless you want to test the irony of death again, I advise you to vacate the premises. And don't worry, I'll tell Salvai you dropped by." She attempted to go after him, but two guards barricaded in front of her and he disappeared. Their intimidating statures hardly made her flinch. Taking them out wouldn't cost her a fingernail, but it would garner unwanted attention.

"_Guess he and Carla didn't play nicely,"_ she reckoned to herself, not sparing the two meatheads one more second. The rest of the members carried on in their socializing. _"He advised me to leave,"_ she then recalled. No further pondering over the warning, her body already began moving without her. Generally, she wouldn't tolerate threats or shady suggestions. Hell, she lived for such dangers. But this time, every muscle clinging to her bones forced for action. Thus, just this once, her pride humbled and minded the enemy's words. She arrived back in the courtyard previously passed and continued forward to the next section until a scream pierced through the tranquil music played by the piano. And within seconds, pandemonium spread through the mansion like wildfire. Cries escalated and people ran in her direction, striving to flee into the second half of the palace for sanctuary. She braced herself for the impact from the stampede, struggling to get even a glimpse of the potential danger. Pale yellow skin, lanky limbs with fingers the length of kitchen knives and a trunk covered with swollen pores, the monster retracted its squirming tongue from the bottom of a woman's throat. Her pearls were scattered on the ground where it stood, and her body fell dead to the floor with puss and saliva drooling from her mouth. Instinctively, Ada swung herself 180 degrees to join the others in their escape, but once she turned around, a cutting shriek slashed through her eardrums, paralyzing her to her knees. Feeling as if her ears were about to bleed, she picked herself up from the temporary stun and from the haziness of her recovering vision, a faint orange glow pulsated, growing ever brighter and larger opposite of the porous monstrosity behind her. It drove the crowd of innocents back her way and picked up its speed to begin the hunt; its tumor-like growth for lungs violently burning red for another painful screech. Escaping peacefully was no longer an option, and fear had yet to claim her. Instead, she smiled. "_Carla…Still trying to play games with me even after death." _She swiftly ripped a slit up the left side of her dress, unveiling her hookshot holstered to the inside of her thigh. Unarmed and with adrenaline pumping through every vein inside, she was ready for the fun to begin.

* * *

The smell of fresh linen permeated the car Leon was in. An empty dark sky and few people bustling in the streets, a 'normal' night identical to this was hard to come by. Although for him, everything about this day was _abnormal_. How easily he tracked Ada to be in Rome. How he dropped his vacation to fly to here because of her. And now, he was headed to the transportation's center of operations to fish out the cabdriver that picked her up on arrival. That was the last shot of her that surveillance in the airport was able to capture: a license plate. He couldn't believe how easily he found her through the cameras set up in the immigration room. So far, the pieces kept falling in place. No twists or turns, bumps or holes. Would the rest of this trip be just as smooth? It was still too early to tell.

His handgun was snuggly clamped between his arm and the side of his trunk, hanging from his shoulder holster, and ideally concealed by his black leather jacket. Odd, how comfortable the bulky metal felt against him, that without it he almost felt incomplete.

He lifted his head from resting against his knuckles when the driver suddenly spoke, "So you're American, eh?"

"What gave it away?" Leon asked back.

"When you're in the business long enough, you can tell," the cabby merrily answered. "Mind if I turn on the radio?"

"Be my guest."

He went through quite a few channels, altering from a bit of classical to pop and then soul.

"Ah, this is the good stuff!" he said, reaching the jazz station. The upbeat rhythm of the saxophone and piano soothed the mind and blocked out the stress and jitters, capable of making even the most pessimistic of days seem pleasant. Leon's bottom lip slowly pushed against his top one, creating a half-smile as he watched the middle-aged man snap his fingers and quietly sing a few words to himself. Static and an inaudible voice from the radio transceiver interrupted the relaxation. The cabdriver turned off the music, and turned up the volume on the communication device. The choppy voice came back again, enunciating in Italian.

"Isn't that our stroke of luck? We're gonna' have to take a detour," the driver said, switching on the right blinker.

"How come?" Leon leaned slightly forward.

"Something about an attack on a church on Via del Regno. HQ wants us to avoid the area."

An imaginary nudge pressed Leon to continue asking, "What kind of attack?"

"Donno." The guy picked up his transmitter and spoke into it, and although the agent couldn't understand a single word, he could still make out the astonishment and severity in their tones.

"What is it?" he immediately asked when they were done.

"He says it's terrorists," the driver relayed, finally displaying a little worry. "Police have blockaded the street!"

Voracity seized Leon as the rationality in his brain went haywire and his organs churned vigorously inside him. In his profession, he was programmed to never act on assumption or impulse but on proof and premeditation. He had told Hunnigan his reasons for coming here. But did he have evidence for his claims? No. Did he have a plan for how he'd carry out the task? No. He was basing _everything_ on a whim, unprepared for _anything_. And that was exactly what would make this selfish crusade of his achievable.

"Take me there," were the next words out of his mouth.

"What?! You crazy, American?!" the guy chaffed. "We're suppose to stay _away_ from the trouble. Not head right into it."

"I'm not asking for you to drop me off at the front steps. Just close enough so I can get in by foot." Leon practically pressed himself against the plastic barrier separating him from the driver.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no! I've been instructed to bring you to your destination and then drive my ass back home! So end of discussion!"

The cabby was a stubborn man, and at this moment, he had every right to be. Leon was asking the fellow to put his life in danger. Who wouldn't be unwilling? But considering that the city was undergoing an attack and that the world's recently most feared bioterrorist mastermind – thought to be dead – just landed in the same postal code a mere day ago, what were the odds of that? If this was indeed bioterrorism, then the stakes had changed. This was his job, and no amount of self-interest could make him disregard the innocent lives that would come to risk.

Like a reflex, he pulled out his gun, only having it visible, and then demanded, "My destination just changed. Take me to the church."

"HOLY SHIT!" the man freaked, slamming the breaks.

"I'm an agent for the US government, and I need your cooperation."

"What?!"

"This is a bioterrorist attack, and if it is _not_ contained then you can say goodbye to this city."

The man gaped back at him in consternation by what he was hearing. "B-b-but even if I do take you there, all the street's blocked off for several blocks. I won't be able to get in."

"You're a taxi driver. You'll find a way in."

His entire body fidgeted as the distress overwhelmed him. He tugged on his hair as if trying to pull the decision out. "Ah, fuck me!" he cursed himself, slamming his hands onto the wheel and hastily rotating it all the way to the end for a U-turn.

* * *

The scene was much worse than anticipated with the blockade expanding to a two mile radius, and the presence of government forces was further proof of the severity of the situation. Despite the hindrances, the cabby knew of an ally that was hardly used to bypass the watch. He was able to get Leon to the palazzo a block down the street from behind the church, a much better drop-off than he was expecting. Taking cover behind a mailbox, Leon peaked out from the edge. Several of the locals' cars along the street and a lone bulletproof vehicle parked to his left with five guards patrolling the area. A storm of gunfire came from the front side of the building, alarming them. Whatever BOW was involved, it was concentrated at the entrance.

"_Getting in shouldn't be too hard then,"_ he imagined. _"Just have to get pass these guys."_ There were two means of entrance: infiltrating from the back of the church or through the palace apparently connected to it. Exactly which part of the property was taken over was unknown, possibly the entire construction was already a den of the undead. In that case, any point of entry was just as unfavorable. His calf muscles flexed as he prepared the sprint across, grasping a good footing, and with the guards distracted by the thundering of a nearby explosion, he took off. Crossing the street never felt longer with time purposely slowing to prolong the suspense. The next few seconds became minutes as he almost reached the side door. Only a few more steps Leon shifted his body, readying his side to impact the door and break his way in. But just as he was about to, the window above burst into pieces. Without thinking, he immediately pushed against the force of his acceleration to come to a halt. Time reverted back to its normal pace, and a woman leapt out from the shattered opening atop. She gracefully landed several meters behind him, adorn in an exotic dress with hair black as night. An alarm resounded in his head from the sight of her. No longer was he aware of his current state; all focus channeled to _her_.

"Ada," her name slipped from him, for in his mind there was no one else. The female responded, throwing a gaze over her shoulder to reveal the ever eluding profile of the vixen to his temptations.

"Leon?" she blurted, jerking upright. Enchanting brown eyes, smooth light skin, and an alluring pair of lips – for once – were unable to mask the shock that splattered onto her visage. She was always so composed whenever they crossed paths, even amused, like she expected him. Nothing about her expression for _this_ encounter had 'expected' written on it.

Before one of them could respond, the soldiers nearby hollered at them and ran their way. Distraction made time for fleeing impossible as they were almost surrounded. The officer fastly approaching Ada aimed his gun to her and rambled on, gesticulating for her to drop the hookshot and raise her hands. She didn't, and as his mouth opened to yell again, he was suddenly tackled to the ground. Resembling a bipedal frilled lizard with a head and neck coated with horns, the creature tore off the man's trachea from his throat, leaving him suffocating in his own blood. Multiple similar creatures broke through the other windows on the second floor, and immediately, screams and firing ensued. Taking her chance, Ada jumped behind one of the sedans parked along the pavement. Bullets could be heard puncturing the metal coating of the automobile. With her back glued against the side of the car door, she peaked up and through the window, seeing two of the monsters stand erected on their legs with the plated scales around their chests opening to reveal a fleshy body of spikes. And faster than a blink of an eye, thorny projectiles shot out and two additional bodies dropped like ragdolls.

"_Leon…" _His name kept repeating itself in her head. _"What is he doing here?" _ She bent over and peered below the car. Three corpses and the two live ones behind cover radioing for backup, but the government agent was nowhere in sight. _"Where is he? Is he hurt?" _Her worrying redirected as a low snarl came to hearing and a string of saliva dripped to the ground right next to her cheek, emitting a revolting stench. The reptilian towered over the roof of the car, never taking its chameleon-like eyes from her. It didn't bother granting its prey time to act. The minute pores beneath its scales produced a gas with that same nauseating smell, distorting her vision, while its neck swelled twice its original size. Even standing right at death's door, she was not consumed by fear. And right when its mouth cracked open to spew its toxin, Leon's kick sent it flying meters away.

"You owe me," he said, pulling her to her feet once she took his hand. The cold-blooded mutant scurried back up, now joined by an additional one. Finally, Ada's instincts awoke out of its sudden coma from her unforeseen meeting.

"So what're you doing here, handsome?" she asked, finding herself grinning in such a disadvantageous position. Butterflies fluttered inside her from just standing beside him, but she squashed the abnormal sensation to the bottom of her stomach. Now was not the time for love stories.

"Vacation," he answered. They expected their predators to advance and pounce forward, but instead, both instantly stood straight and the protective coverings over their bodies opened. Having never lowered his aim, Leon unloaded on the targets, knocking one of them dead over its back whilst the second proceeded in its attack, and a discharge of spikes was sent flying in their course. They rolled out of the way to opposing ends. The blonde quickly got back on to his feet and fed the inside of the lizard-freak's chest full of lead.

"_Vacation. Psh…You're teasing me, Leon," _Ada mused to herself, standing back up. The two guards from before were still alive and had managed to take out the other B.O.W.s flanking them. Leon looked to her, his blue eyes so bright that even the shadows of the night couldn't conceal them. From just his gaze, she knew question marks for her were piling up with answers she couldn't give. There was no exchange of words for the two remaining men barked at them from their cover with their guns held high. Another vehicle could be seen turning from the corner to their location, most possibly the reinforcements they called for. A team of four hopped out of the transportation unit armed with assault rifles pointed at the two impostors. They progressed to bring them in for interrogation, but to their luck, the moment was again graced by an unwanted presence. The side door Leon endeavored to access earlier thudded from the other side, making all their heads snap in its direction. Strange enough, there was no second thump, and the air was uncomfortably silent. Leon then removed the empty clip from his gun, startling a soldier who scolded him to stop in his actions. And halfway in his sentence, the door busted in half and a colossal body rammed forth. With twitchy fingers, the men unleashed firing onto the raging force, but their bullets bounced off like marshmallows. Leon dodged out of its tracks, having already reloaded in mid-movement. He volleyed multiple shots to the bulk of its spine, but he ceased once he had a clear view of what they were up against.

"So it finally caught up," Ada noted, keeping her distance. Rippling with muscle and thick tissue, the mutated tank was encased in a hardened shell, excessively protruding at the shoulder blades and scapula. It turned around with arteries bulging out from its lidless eyes over its armored coating. Blood soaked its feet from the trampled soldier, and an arm dangled from its grip. The owner of the missing limb squealed in agony on his back hardly two meters from it. With whatever strength that remained, he crawled towards his brothers in arms.

"You wanna' tell me what the hell that thing is?" Leon asked, unable to recall its appearance in his long list of nightmares.

"My date," she replied. "It's been chasing me all evening. Thing just doesn't take a hint." She observed left and right, spotting the men's arsenal truck. "Think you can buy me a minute?" she turned to Leon who was providing cover as the berserk swung its fists in frenzy.

"I can get you as long as you need."

Taking her chance, she bordered the fight and sprinted to the truck. The back was stocked with ammunition, explosives, and rifles. _"Napads' armors are weak against explosive rounds," _she recalled, glossing over the weaponry. _"The street's too small to use grenades. A shotgun should work."_ A firearm that fitted her bill: simple, common, and powerful. Yet to her disbelief, not a single one was in the collection. Almost discouraged, her spirit lifted back in place when her eyes fell to the Barrett M82, resting in its opened storage case. _"An anti-material rifle…That'll do…"_

It was one against two now with the infantry unit's blood and severed appendages embellished on the cobblestoned ground. The hulking mass thrashed forward and Leon back flipped out of its grab. He sent two more rounds to its head but failed to inflict any damage.

"So silver, huh?" Leon shouted to her. He positioned himself as the Napad prepared for a charge, and barely jumped out of range upon impact. "Not your usual color."

The spy couldn't help but fluster to the fact that he actually noticed her dress, unable to wipe away that dazzled grin that sprouted. _"In such a tense situation, he's attempting conversation. Oh, Leon, you're definitely up to something_."

Nonetheless, she went along and responded, "Not my usual scene," and loaded the .50 caliber rounds one by one into the clip.

"You got monsters and _me_. What's unusual about it?" he queried back. All his talking diverted his concentration in his agility, and the berserker knocked him onto his back with the backswing of his punching bags for arms. The blow knocked the air out of him with a throbbing pain in his chest, feeling a rib jab at his lungs each time he breathed. Once his head stopped spinning, he looked up to see the monster a decent length from him, give a roar, signaling for his charge – the last one to finally put him down for good. Ada slammed the loaded magazine into place and removed the scope. Coming out from behind the mobile armory, she aimed the rifle point-blank at the Napad's back as it stampeded towards Leon backed up against the front entrance of a building shooting with whatever ammo he had left.

"I didn't bring my gun," she finally answered him and pulled the trigger. Greater than five inches in length, the .50 BMG easily perforated the thick plating along its back, through to the vulnerable flesh beneath, and out from the front of its stomach. It fell to its knees and a second shot blew off the top half of its cranium with the bullet penetrating into the concrete wall, missing Leon's head by inches. At last, the resilient monster hit the ground. She quickly arrived to his side. "Are you alright?" The cool façade slipped, and she examined his body for any wounds.

"Do all your dates end like this?" he jested.

"Only the ones with you crashing them," she softly laughed back, relieved that he was fine. The bitterness he had against her for the past forty-eight hours withdrew upon seeing that smile take shape. It wasn't deceptive or seductive in any fashion; it was purely genuine. He knew because when she realized the vulnerable part of her showed, it disappeared as fast as it came. She wanted to say more, anything just to keep the overwhelming chemistry between them flowing. Work, on the other hand, tolerated no such deviations, and single-mindedness centered back to her original goal: Neo-Umbrella. Getting up, she told him, "You might want to vacation elsewhere. This city's future isn't looking good."

"I can't leave just yet." He got up and inserted a fresh clip, cocking the gun before sliding it in his shoulder holster.

"You're going in there?"

"And you're not?"

"Not my problem."

"There are people trapped in there, and you're just gonna' leave them?"

"There _is_ no one left. Those that aren't dead by now are either mutated or infected. They're not worth risking your own life for." Her disheartening words matched the coldness in her stare. It was incomprehensible how instantaneously she switched between sides – from care and gentleness to utter indifference. Maybe this was the Ada that could kill so many and not even blink.

"You know what'll happen if this isn't contained. It'll spread-"

"Like I've said. Don't stay for the after-party." She took out her grappling gun, always the first move in her process of parting.

"You really don't care about anyone but yourself, do you, Ada?" Leon derided, letting out some of the petulance. Not a spec of emotion spilled over her stoic porcelain face she had long perfected. No snarky retorts or sarcasm, just her back to him. As how all their run-ins have ended, she aimed and grappled on to a nearby ledge. And she was gone.

"_Go after her!"_ That was what he thought. That was the reason why he was even in this country. And as much as he didn't want to leave things the way they did, as much as how he wanted to get his answers, he couldn't.

* * *

**Hey everybody! I'm sorry this update took a while. I wanted to get it out before Christmas but obviously that didn't happen. BUT I didn't take so long for nothing! All the time was spent researching on various things for this chapter to make it as real and grounded as possible in the RE universe. And since we're actually starting to get into the plot, I didn't want to just slap together a predictable chapter just for a quick update. And as compensation for the long wait, chapter 3 is exceptionally longer. (Please don't expect future chapters to be this length though, unless something like this happens again, haha.)**

**So please, if you got the time, leave a review for me. Your thoughts are a HUGE encouragement and a constant sign letting me know that this story still has a heartbeat.**

**Oh, and an FYI, Ada's dress is actually her alternate costume in Mercenaries in RE6. It was just such a pretty dress that I had to have her wear it :P Though I got rid of that ridiculous headpiece -_-**

**Of course, thank you for reading and showing your support. I hope to see you next chapter!**


End file.
